


Supplemental Scrolls

by prospit



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-27 20:44:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15693048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prospit/pseuds/prospit
Summary: A collection, updated sporadically, of possible moments on the series of circular journeys undertaken by eight former strangers.





	Supplemental Scrolls

**Author's Note:**

> In a town whose name doesn't matter, an unlikely bond of friendship grows stronger. Also, Therion needs to let himself have friends already.

"And that'll do it." Alfyn sat back, resting his wrists on his knees. "All finished up." Someone handed him a clean cloth so he could wipe his hands. That done, he carefully drew the sheet and blanket up to Ophilia's chest. Tired, gentle eyes returned his smile. "How's that feel?"

"It doesn't hurt." They both knew it for a lie, but she kept her weary cheer as she tried to meet all the other worried faces in the room. Apothecaries and clerics alike were accustomed to audiences shrouded in concern. Yet, that this cloud of companions would see her so incapable stung right to her heart. "Thank you, Alfyn. I'll be all right."

"'Course you will." He patted her shoulder carefully and she closed her eyes as if she knew what came next. When he left the stool at her bedside, Cyrus sank onto it, while H'aanit carefully rested the lantern holding the Flame of the Rite amid all the half-spent bottles on the nightstand. In wordless agreement scholar and huntress began cleaning up. Alfyn gave the blanket one last tug. "Get some rest. Therion's next. How's it looking over there, Prim?"

She shrugged off the nickname like it never happened, pulling wet and bloody cloth away from their young thief's right leg. Alfyn made several tutting sounds, in concert with Therion's hisses and Primrose's scoff. In complete silence, sparing one another amused glances from time to time, a soldier and a merchant girl watched Alfyn gently chide and soothe his way past some immensely creative curses and the theatrical scorn they earned as retaliation.

When all was said and done, Therion, too, lay abed, leg below the knee swathed in bandages carrying the pungent smell of herb paste. He jerked away from Alfyn's shoulder pat, the air between his teeth cracking like straw.

"Ophilia should be up to moving around in a few days," said Alfyn, not daring to look up from a careful repacking of his satchel. The round of cringes and dissatisfaction was tangible without any help from him.

"A few _days_?" Tressa moaned. "We'll _never_ be able to leave with that caravan now." The travelers had agreed to join with a small caravan heading south, serving as both guides for the road ahead and assistance should the wagons meet with trouble. A nobleman at their destination offered a tidy sum for the safe arrival of his family, journeying among them.

"That isn't Ophilia's fault," said Primrose, who had borrowed a balm of Alfyn's to see to her own minor scrapes. She caught the young merchant's arm and ignored her squawk of protest. _Your turn_ outlined her very manner; none of them emerged from their brush with the war dog pack unscathed. "Or Therion's. If we can't continue, the caravan leader ought to be warned about the monsters. Another attack would slow their journey at best."

"All the more reason for us to go with 'em, right?" Alfyn was beaming, glancing between Therion and Ophilia, even though worry overtook his face around the eyes when watching the latter. He looked tired, but satisfied, believing his answer a neat tie around their problem parcel. "The best thing for her right now's rest, and with the big guy here she won't be alone."

Therion scowled. "I told you not to-"

"Perhaps 'tis not for the best, that we should leaven them both alone _and_ injured." H'aanit's voice cut through the rising conflict with unmatched precision. "Should they encounteren trouble, 'twould taketh little to renderen them defenseless." Yet her eyes were on Therion with the sort of intrigue she reserved for creatures neither considered predator nor prey. No question, for her, of his loyalties or intentions, of what he might get up to while left alone.

"The caravan is not large. It may be that we can fulfill the agreement while sparing some hands to watch over Sister Ophilia and Master Therion." Several smiles turned Olberic's way, grateful in turns for his steadiness and his certainty in their strength; only Therion kept his frown, mumbling something about what he would _not_ be called. "At the very least, I should prefer Alfyn accompany us forth."

Their apothecary grinned again, if he had ever stopped, slipping under the strap of his satchel and fiddling with a sleeve. "Going on without a healer's a pretty bad idea, I'll give you that. I don't mind coming along. These two'll be all right until we get back." Digging quickly into a pocket, he took out a crumpled bit of paper and flashed his sheepish best at Cyrus. "Don't suppose you've got a pen handy, Professor? I'll leave instructions."

"I'll go and have a look about town, and see what I can garner with regard to any unexpected attacks of late." Cyrus rose from his seat and bent to retrieve his overcoat, fingers deft in fastening the hooks at its collar. From somewhere within he produced the requested pen. "There may be a nest of sorts nearby, or some environmental shift causing the creatures to draw closer to civilized life."

Tressa plucked her cap from the stand and settled it atop her head. "My legs work just fine," she smirked at Therion and he met it with a snort, "so I'll go around and listen a bit too. Get people thinking they're in on a good deal and next thing you know you're hearing all the latest."  

"I won't be long, I'm sure." This time Cyrus turned one raised brow Therion's way. The thief bristled visibly, holding up both hands in a hostile shrug. "Do keep out of trouble until my return."

Olberic nodded, shifting through the open door. "Then we four shall proceed to the road south. Alfyn, Primrose." For H'aanit, at the prospect of preparing to depart, had sidled past him into the corridor. Alfyn clapped Therion's shoulder on his way out, grinning, saying something that ended with "big guy" that he ignored because the panther in Primrose's eyes watched him. She left last, gaze not relaxing until she made it through the door.

"Damn. What do they think I'm going to do?" Had he less sense, Therion would have kicked something. "They know where I sleep, and nobody has anything valuable enough to take and run. Because running would really get me somewhere."

Ophilia remained silent and still in the other bed, asleep.

-

_I'm so bored I'd even read one of Albright's books_. Therion shifted, grunting at the lance of pain up his leg as his heel knocked into the post at the foot of the bed. He refused to lie about doing nothing. Perched on a stool, leg propped upon the mattress, cleaning his nails with a small knife, he refused on principle to admit to the silent room that this, too, was nothing.

One turn of his wrist and the knife sank cleanly into the doorframe, halfway to its weighted hilt. He'd once disdained throwing knives, thinking of a hundred times he'd be dead if he tossed his weapon to the wolves, but aptitude and adaptability won out over his stubbornness. It made the most sense to make such a skill of theft that he never need run or fight; second-most, the knowledge of all possible tools in the moments skill wasn't enough to keep him unnoticed. That lesson should have taken on the first go.

Therion cursed and hit the mattress with his fist. Only the one good leg available and he'd tossed away all his entertainment. "Could've at least had the decency to leave me a crutch." His good heel kicked at the floor. "A lance. A spare sword? Probably thought I'd get up to some _trouble_."

Griping to an almost empty room didn't mean much. Therion turned his head as far as he could, and in his peripheral vision Ophilia did not stir. Whatever brew Alfyn gave her must've been heavy. In an effort not to think about her kneeling in the dirt, blood soaking into her white vestments, Therion spun in place and cast about for something interesting to look at. His eye settled on the sea of bottles on the nightstand, and the intruder among them.

"Hell of a lot of good it'd do me to make off with that," and he nodded to the wrought vessel holding her Flame. "Only thing for me in any church is their almsbox."

Failing to hold back a sharp grunt, he heaved himself to his foot, carefully hopping across the room and wincing at both the pain and the thud of his boot. If she woke because of his clamor he'd deserve whatever teasing he got, and something made him check that neither Cyrus nor Tressa secretly waited in the doorway to catch him in the act.

Satisfied with the lack of spies, he made his last few hops to the table, shifting bottles around until he could study the vessel without too many distractions. "Oh ho. Well made, and they tinted the glass." His voice dropped to float above a whisper. "Maybe it _would_ be worth something."

"Therion."

He looked up quickly, more surprised by the firmness suffusing his name than the sight of Ophilia awake.

"Hey. Didn't mean it." Just in case, he shook his head; her eyes laughed at him and her weak smile held pain. "About your lantern. You doing all right?" The other stool yet had its place at the side of her bed, and he hopped through his limp to sit on it, leaning on his elbows.

Ophilia hummed once, closing her eyes through a slow breath. "How long have the others been away now?" She didn't remember their departures, but she knew very well how it was to wake to an almost empty room.

"Uh."

How long _was_ it? After Primrose shut the door, Therion dove headlong into wallowing in his boredom and imprisonment, staring at the ceiling and thinking up entire chains of curses for the beasts who did this to him, to them. Then he napped, for which he blamed Alfyn completely, one of those things he drank was probably always going to put him out, and when the nap ended he decided he could no longer abide stillness. So he sat, cleaned his nails, and argued with himself about whether nothing could have any qualities.

"I see," said Ophilia, the whisper tinged in something forlorn. Without the sadness, he'd have thought she meant to call him on his non-answer. "So they've gone ahead?"

"Professor Albright and Tressa are around somewhere. Gathering information." The fingers of his left hand wiggled in time with what he thought of that proposition. Cyrus was prone to wild guesses and staring intensely at people as if their backs would give up their darkest secrets; Tressa could never be sure whether someone was feeding her a line. "The rest are off. They'll be back."

Ophilia nodded. Slowly, she brought one hand up from under the covers and rubbed her eyes. The small fire burned low behind its iron grate, and whatever the hour, little sunlight came through the high window over her bed. She could sleep for another week, perhaps, if it was permitted. If they all had no pressing journeys to continue.

Holding his breath against any escaping pain, Therion rose again. This time, his hop held more purpose, and he dared turning it into a true limp. Regretted it, too. At least it wasn't far to that note of Alfyn's; he braced a hip against the tiny desk and held the paper up to one of the wall lamps. Reading through it all, he said _tch_ and _hff_ as if the other man were in the room with him, but damn near dropped the page when he got to _Find Therion a crutch to use_ near the bottom.

"I'll be damned." If he kept shaking his head like this, he'd start losing his mind. Returning to the top of the note, Therion turned his lean to face Ophilia. "If I found some way to get you water, could you drink it?"

She laughed. Gentle, and trailed by quick, shallow breaths. Some minutes later she found the renewed strength to speak.

"I think I ought to wait." When she looked at him trying to stand there, disheveled and disgruntled, carefully keeping his foot off the floor, she couldn't picture him making it back to the bed, much less venturing somewhere else for water. Swallowing hard, she rubbed her eyes again, this time to rid them of all traces of imminent tears. "Even the thought of moving is difficult."

Therion nodded slowly, setting the note back where he found it. "Got it," he said. Without warning he found himself bracing both hands on the desk, as if the thought of another step in any direction was too much for him then, too. With some effort he lifted just one hand, and he felt his fingers touch the mark fixed upon his wrist, pulling a deceptively frayed edge.

"Why'd you do it?"

Ophilia studied him. Turned thus, his face was all but obscured by his shoulder, the shifting light revealing only that he still looked her way; shadows hid any sense of his thoughts, otherwise. Ophilia worked her other hand free of the sheet, folding her fingers together atop the blanket as if she meant to begin a story, or a sermon. From the back of her throat came an intentional single note, a _hm_ , and a true frown closed her lips.

Why _did_ she do it? She remembered clearly Therion's anguished yelp, his taking to one knee in the road. She went to him, kneeling with a spell of holy blessing already working its way into her hands, only to find her eyes near crossing to see the slavering jaws of a hungry war dog.

The pack set upon the travelers and here, prone and aching in the aftermath, Ophilia recalled only flashes. Olberic shouting, Linde's yowl of triumph as her claws sunk into ragged fur and flesh. One of the beasts cornered crippled Therion, who fought despite his torn leg with his teeth clenched and a knife clutched tight in his hand.  

She smashed that one in the back of the head with her staff.

It surprised the creature, and Ophilia put herself bodily between the reeling canine and Therion. Soon after there came a very dull pain, followed by a surprising and deep one. Ophilia remembered the larger war dog's breath at her ear, the tearing of its claws. There was more shouting.

At once she was back in the room at the inn, with Therion watching her like a trapped mouse and the jagged edge of pain working its way into her thoughts. _Well?_ his posture asked.

"Come here, Therion." Reaching with the hand nearest him, palm open. It struck him that she always wore gloves for travel. It wasn't the answer he wanted. "Please?" Her other hand caught a fold of blanket and held it so tightly she trembled with the effort.

Maybe later he could argue with himself over refusing a Sister in pain. He limped back toward the bed, jaw set and lips drawn tight. The stool welcomed him with no protest. Wordless, he dropped his hand over hers, and his fingers met behind it.

The spell overtaking him nearly sent him reeling back again. Molten light washed through his senses, an inaudible sigh taking his pain with it, coupled to the very real sigh from Ophilia in bed. He knew this well. Never studied the way the Church taught the magic Ophilia commanded, but he'd sure as hell been on the receiving end enough. Therion carefully flexed his foot and flinched immediately, cutting off a cry.

"I'm sorry it isn't as complete of a healing as it could be." Seeking to meet his gaze, she felt the stirrings of guilt pull at her smile. "I thought I might as well do it for both of us, if I meant to try."

"Pretty sure you weren't supposed to try any of that." Therion must not have known the way his wide-eyed surprise betrayed him still. The throbbing in his leg was gone for the moment, but that had little to do with it. "Thanks." He nodded once, hard, and with considerate slowness in the turn of his wrist to hold her hand more properly. "Thanks."

Weary brown eyes met his at last. "You're very welcome," she said, voice lined in renewed clarity and exhaustion both.

-

When Cyrus returned to find them both _quite_ asleep, he did not commit the indignity of leaving his coat about Therion's shoulders. Why let him know he'd been stumbled upon thus, he reasoned, when expressions of true camaraderie proved so rare from his corner? Instead, the scholar backed out the door and gave three sharp knocks. Within, he heard the thief's groggy curses and a few incensed booted hops, and so he had quite the excuse to keep his smirk as he went into the room once more.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there! This particular tiny string of scenes has brewed up in my head since day two of playing this game, and I am happy to see it come alive on "paper" instead of doing circles in my mind. I hope you enjoyed your stay. No promises of regular updates, but the crew here is so fun to write and the game leaves plenty of room to explore new dynamics, so I hope to add to this very soon!


End file.
